


Escape into Madness

by hypnoshatesme



Series: Embrace Insanity [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Hallucinations, Mary Keay's A+ Parenting, Mental Instability, Other, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25800160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme
Summary: As Gerry's life starts falling apart, he finds himself wondering if sanity is really worth it.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Series: Embrace Insanity [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873405
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	Escape into Madness

**Author's Note:**

> This somehow ended up less...dark than I intended, but well, who am I to tell my wips where to go.

Michael could sense that the book wasn't there as soon as it stepped through the door. Nonetheless, it looked around. The wards of the building had been broken, finally, but for all it knew there could still be something simply hiding it. And Michael wanted that book. It belonged to it. It was scanning the shelves - too empty - when its eyes landed on the framed drawing on the wall. It hissed at first at the eye, before it noticed the details, the intricate patterns and lines that weren’t noticeable at first, but difficult to ignore once noticed. 

It was hypnotic to look at. It was magnificent. 

It wondered who drew it. There was nobody in this building, it could feel as much. It would have to come back later to find out.

*

The shop felt strange now. Empty. Lonely. Gerry should be glad. Pinhole had never been a home but a cage and now it was an empty one and yet Gerry was still there. He wanted to leave it behind, he did, but for now he was still sorting through the books. The Leitners were all burnt of course. But there were plenty of normal books, some falling apart, some antiques and Gerry couldn't bring himself to get rid of them all. They might get in handy. And Gerry had always liked books.

He avoided the room his mother had died in the best he could. It had been cleaned but to him it was still streaked in blood and skin and ink no matter what. He wished to forget how he had found her, then, high and bloody, partly-skinned. He couldn’t. He thought it might get better with time, but then she had come back and Gerry had to avoid it even more. 

He was carrying a box of books through that exact room - he had procrastinated sorting through the stuff the police had left long enough - when he felt his ears pop with static, his head suddenly feeling light. When he looked up, there was a door in the middle of the room, a shape stepping over its threshold. The form took a moment to get into focus - never _actually_ did so - but it ended up looking vaguely human. Gerry didn’t know it, but he recognise the feeling. Well, no, that wasn’t right. It felt different in a distinctly wrong way. The Spiral. Gerry clutched the box in his hand, trying hard not to leave the being out of its sight while at the same time not looking too directly, because that made him dizzy. It didn’t move from its spot, to his surprise. That only put him more on edge.

"I'm searching for a book," it said, the voice barely qualifying to be called that. It was more like touching an old TV, static Gerry couldn’t tell the source of because it was right inside his head, but also all around, layers overlapping into words. He grit his teeth.

"I burnt all your books."

Its eyebrows raised, not quite at the same time. "Just one."

It was difficult to string sentences together, to keep track of the conversation. Gerry’s nails were digging into the box. 

"I burnt all the books connected to your sort, I mean." Gerry couldn’t tell if his voice sounded as blank as he wanted it to, his ears were stuffed with cotton static. He needed to get away from it. No, he needed to get it out of this place.

"What about this picture?" 

Gerry tensed when it lifted one of its nightmarish hands, long, sharp fingers, too many bones, so many bones, pointing at the drawing of an eye that had hung on that wall for years now. He was still fairly sure his mother had put it up more as a tribute to the Watcher than any regards for the fact that Gerry had given it to her, drawn it for her. But Gerry was getting distracted.

Gerry furrowed his brows. He was unsure if he was getting distracted, or if it was purposefully derailing the conversation. Or both.

"What about it?" he managed to ask.

It continued looking at the picture - had it been doing that? Gerry didn’t remember seeing it turn around - and Gerry thought this would have been the moment to attack it. He didn’t move. He didn’t feel less like it was watching him. It still looked very sharp and Gerry only had a box of books on him. Maybe his knife. He suddenly felt like he might have forgotten that one in the morning. That hadn’t happened, had it?

It didn’t turn around when it spoke up again. "Where is it from?" 

"I drew that," the words tumbled out without him planning to say them. At least he didn’t think so.

"I want it."

Gerry raised an eyebrow at that. He wasn’t sure he remembered how the conversation had gotten to this point. His head was spinning, thoughts all over and yet out of reach. He wanted it to go away. 

"For all I care, take it."

"I don't want _this_ one." Its head snapped back, and kaleidoscope eyes, came to stare right at Gerry’s. It only made it more difficult to keep a grasp on what was going on. What _was_ even going on? Gerry wasn’t sure he knew anymore. Had he ever known?

"Well then fuck off." By now Gerry’s voice definitely sounded a bit tight from straining to keep some semblance of an overview of this conversation.

"I wouldn't bring an eye into the hallway.” It sounded mad, somewhat. Maybe Gerry imagined the edge in its tone. He didn’t think he actually heard it, it was more like a feeling.

"Then don't," he said. "Go away."

Its head cocked to the side in a rather mechanical manner. Gerry was fairly sure its neck blended into the background for a moment. "You are eager for me to leave."

"You're giving me a headache."

The grin split its face, curled lips revealing pointy teeth that looked surprisingly monocolored on a being that seemed to constantly be shifting colours and patterns. "I could give you worse."

He inhaled through his nose. He could feel the static being more frantic, pushing at his mind. Was the room moving, too? Gerry squinted at it. 

"Or you could fuck off." There was a slight waver in his voice, but Gerry didn’t care by now.

"What's your name?" The conversation was really giving Gerry whiplash, except his mind felt too soft, so maybe it was more like it was being kneaded.

"None of your business."

The grin grew wider. The face did not accommodate it. "It might be one day."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The door opened and Michael stepped through it again, movements slow and jerky at the same time.

"Michael," it said before the door creaked close again. 

Gerry stood there for another moment, overwhelmed by the lack of static and confusion while at the same time feeling like it still lingered, somehow. The door was gone. When he finally caught himself again he loosened his grip on the books and went back to what he had been doing. Or at least he assumed that it was what he had been doing. Everything seemed a little more uncertain now. He needed a nap. He hadn’t been getting much sleep since his mother came back.

Part of Gerry had thought - hoped - it would be a single occurrence, especially since she was barely together. Not quite a ghost, body flaking and still looking like when she died. Of course it was just Gerry’s luck that he’d have to look at her like that again. And again. And again as she kept appearing. It was clearly straining to her to do so and sometimes she would flicker, her voice muffled and broken, but Mary had never let anything stop her in life and obviously didn’t do so in death either.

Another thing that stayed the same was that she knew exactly what to say to fuck him up for the rest of the day, the night. She couldn’t hurt him physically, not anymore, but she had always preferred to struck with words, especially as he got older. Gerry had become quite good with physical pain over the years, but his emotional or mental defenses had always been easily breached by Mary. Gerry just wanted her to leave him alone. But she never had.

Michael started coming back, too. Between her and Michael’s visits, Gerry preferred it. It fucked him up on a much more physical level, a palpable confusion he could basically taste on his tongue. But it never cut as deep as she knew how to. 

Nonetheless Gerry wished it would leave. He wanted to be left alone, especially after one of his mother’s visits. But it kept showing up. It kept telling him to draw him a picture like the one in the study, but different. Gerry just wanted it to fuck off. 

*

Gerry was trying to calm down from his mother’s last visit, sitting by the window so the smoke from his cigarette wouldn’t trigger the smoke alarm. It had been two days but he was still thinking of it. She always lingered, in his mind, in his dreams. He couldn’t rid himself of her. Thinking he had when she died had been foolish. Gerry would never manage that.

He didn’t bother looking up when he felt the familiar cracking static in the air. Michael hadn’t tried anything yet. Maybe Gerry was also a bit too tired to care about possible death. Would she find him if he died? He wouldn’t put it beyond her.

"You're not drawing," it observed with its echoing voice. 

Gerry had gotten used to it. Not that it didn’t affect him anymore, it was more that he got used to the staticy feeling in his ears, his mind, the confusing sensation seeping into his bones. The initial panic he had felt was still there but dampened by Michael’s frequent visits.

"Guess I'm not,” Gerry mumbled, glancing at it. It was right in front of him, standing on the other side of the window. It looked like always and utterly different at the same time.

"Why?"

"Why would I?"

"I want some of those drawings."

Gerry raised an eyebrow at that. "Some? Multiple?"

"It's a long hallway.” It sounded like it might be pouting. When Gerry looked up he only saw its nightmarish grin.

"Make your own."

"No.” 

Gerry had lost count of how many times they’ve had this exchange. Partly because he just couldn’t remember whether they actually had had this exchange by the point Michael left his brain a scrambled mess when it disappeared again.

Whichever it was, Gerry’s answer stayed the same. "I'm not drawing for you."

"Why not?" Its hand came to rest on the windowsill. 

Gerry sighed, "Why would I?"

"I've been kind.”

He scuffed. "You've been a nuisance"

"You're still alive." Its fingers curled tighter.

"Fucking great,” Gerry grumbled.

"You don't want to live?"

"Sometimes it's questionable." Gerry put out his cigarette. "I’m still not drawing for you.”

A long pause. "You're complicated."

"And paranoid,” Gerry huffed out a laugh.

Michael stared him right in the face. "That one is not on me."

Gerry sighed and lit another cigarette, waving Michael away. "Just leave me alone."

Michael lingered for a long moment before Gerry felt it move.

*

When Gerry did start drawing, it wasn’t necessarily because of Michael constantly pressing him to do so. Yes, part of him hoped it would finally leave him be if he did so, but he also just needed to distract himself from life. Mary had never bothered him outside of Pinhole before. Until she had, a week prior, when he was out for a Leitner hunt and had been woken from a nap in his hotel room by the familiar voice, made more unpleasant with its ghostly distortion. 

And Gerry had been sure he had lost it then. She couldn’t be there, she had never never outside of the store. She had reached out, as she often did, despite her no longer being able to grab him, her hands going right through when she tried for a punch. It didn’t happen often, it seemed to take more out of her flickering form to try to move that much. That night she hadn’t even had to say much. The fact that she was there already shook him badly. There was no escape.

So when he picked up his pen it was to try and forget, for a moment, to make his mind think of something else, to do something familiar and unrelated that might bring a semblance of comfort. Gerry hadn’t been sleeping much. The door somehow seemed louder when it creaked open this time.

“Is that for me?” 

As usual. Gerry didn’t notice it approaching before it was standing right behind him, looking over his shoulder. 

“Will you leave me alone if I say yes?”

“Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“I guess not.” Gerry sighed, leaning back a little. Michael stayed put. Too close. Gerry wasn’t as worried about it as he should. “But yes, you can have this one. It has no eyes.”

Michael hovered there for a long while. It made working difficult sometimes as Gerry would forget what he was doing, but it also forced him to focus on drawing extra hard, pushing everything else to the background. So Gerry didn’t complain.

It came back the next day when Gerry was working on following up on something that had sounded like a Leitner. He had been doing so for the better part of the day, so he really was short on patience to deal with Michael as he looked up to see it standing in front of him.

Michael’s eyes rested on him for longer than was comfortable, but Gerry was too tired to care. 

“Is it done?” 

Gerry sighed, getting up from his chair and taking the opportunity to stretch for a moment, joints popping at the sudden change of position. He walked to the shelves and pulled out a rolled up piece of paper, handing it to Michael. 

“People usually pay for this.”

At least Gerry assumed as much. He had never made money with his art, though he hadn’t tried. His life usually caught up with him before he could ever consider that possibility. He watched as Michael unfurled the paper. He had finished it last night, glad to have something to distract him from sleep. 

Michael looked satisfied, as far as Gerry could tell. Maybe even happy. It didn’t look up from the picture when it spoke, “What do you want?”

Gerry rarely heard those words, and when he did it was usually because he had cornered somebody, so for a moment, he had no idea what to say to that. What _did_ he want? He wanted to be able to sleep without being haunted by nightmares. He wanted to live without his mother’s ghost reminding him of more nightmares to add to the pile, of being one herself. He wanted the Eye to fuck off, stop feeling it sneak onto his tongue when he asked a question sometimes. Gerry wanted _peace_.

“Help me get rid of my mother’s ghost,” he said, quietly, unable to keep the weary frustration out of his voice completely. Gerry was clearly getting to new levels of desperate if he was showing vulnerability to the fucking Distortion. He rubbed at his face. He was such a mess. Much like his life had always been, he guessed.

“No.”

“Thought so.” Gerry gave a weak shrug. He hadn’t _really_ expected it to help, of course. Still, he somehow felt worse now. It had been worth a try, he guessed.

Michael watched his slouched shoulders, took in his tired face. "She can't go through my door."

The smile Gerry gave it was wry. "I’ll pass." 

He went back to his desk and to his files, not even looking up as Michael disappeared again, leaving him alone with his thoughts. 

Gerry didn’t like that as much as he would have wanted himself to. 

*

Michael popped in somewhat regularly to watch him draw - or have circular conversations about it with him - and Gerry got used to it. Its presence was bothersome, difficult to focus under, but he managed. And Michael even listened when he asked it to stop hovering so close. The closer it was the harder it was to keep a sense of what he was doing. 

Though sometimes Gerry felt tempted to keep it close, pull it closer, just so his thoughts stayed all muddled and incomprehensible. He didn’t do so, of course.

Gerry still felt worn down. He was getting nowhere with getting his hands on the skin book. It had disappeared. Nothing he tried worked to keep his mother away. The Beholder was starting to push, to taunt him that if he’d just lean a little closer he might find help with it and it was starting to get difficult to resist. But Gerry was close enough to the Eye _already_. It had been his mother who had pushed him towards the Watcher in the first place. He didn’t want this. He had never wanted any of this. Gerry was exhausted. He needed a break. 

*

Gerry tried to enjoy his holiday, he did. He couldn’t. He knew Mary could get to him and that knowledge made it impossible to relax. His guard was up all the time and he kept thinking he heard her voice, kept seeing her in the passing crowds, expecting her to be waiting for him in his hotel room when he came back. This wasn’t good. It was a new kind of paranoia, not the vague awareness of being watched by the Eye but the expectation of Mary being _there_ . And of course she was. She was always with him. In his head. But now she apparently didn’t _stay_ there anymore. Her ghost didn’t even need to show up to haunt him anymore.

The chair in front of him had not been occupied the last time he had looked, but now Michael was sitting in it. Gerry hadn’t noticed the change in the air, which was concerning. If he was getting so stressed that he was starting to be careless, something bad ought to happen sooner or later. He couldn’t afford carelessness on top of everything. Gerry stirred his coffee, trying to hide his shock at Michael’s sudden appearance. He could feel its gaze on him, the familiar haze of confusion settling in his mind. Gerry nearly sighed in relief as it muffled the constant anxiety he’d been feeling.

“You look different.”

Gerry couldn’t tell if it was commenting on attire or on the fact that he looked like shit, which he did. He didn’t know when he last slept. So he decided for a neutral response. “Mhm.”

“But also the same.”

Attire, then. “Fascinating,” he said in the most deadpan voice he could muster.

“Are you done with the drawing?”

“I’m on holiday.”

Michael blinked - a rarity - before saying, “Drawing is fun.”

“Then why don’t you do it?” He didn’t exactly snap. Gerry didn’t want Michael to go. He was enjoying the brief moment of being unable to worry about his mother’s ghost showing up in clarity. It was like that thought wasn’t really his, too shapeless, not quite palpable. It couldn’t hurt him. It wasn’t sharp enough, for now.

“I don’t want to.”

“Neither do I.”

Michael crossed its arms on the table, settling its head on them. It was strange to have it looking up at him. Its eyeballs were definitely rolling too far up to achieve that. It looked somewhat cute like that. Gerry was clearly too fucking tired. 

“Conflicting,” Michael mumbled, voice right in his ear, making Gerry sit up a little straighter for a moment.

He frowned at it. “Not really.” 

“It conflicts with me wanting the drawing.” Now it was pouting. It looked odd. Gerry took a sip of his coffee before he could add ‘and cute’.

“I don’t care.” His voice was starting to not sound like his own anymore and he couldn’t tell if it was his exhaustion or Michael’s doing. Staring at it wasn’t giving him any answers. Gerry wasn’t sure if he actually cared.

“Hm,” was all it said, returning his gaze.

*

Gerry didn’t feel any better after his ‘break’. It turned out that the intense paranoia wasn’t something he left in Italy. He was starting to expect her to be everywhere in London, too. And even after she finally apparead one night, it didn’t calm down. It just served as a stark reminder that his fear wasn’t coming from nowhere. 

The only times he could focus on anything without that being a constant concern at the back of his mind was when Michael came to check up on the drawings. And Gerry couldn’t really _focus_ on anything per se in those instances, but that meant he couldn’t really focus on his mother either, which was the best he could get, it seemed. He’d take it. By that point, drawing gave him little distraction on its own, but he still kept doing it - did more of it - in the hopes Michael would show up.

In fact, Gerry had started trying to keep it around for longer, dreading the confused haze lifting after it was gone, exposing him to all of the problems he was trying to tackle and failing in doing so. He couldn’t find the fucking book. The Eye was getting more and more persistent. He hadn’t been successful during his last investigations. His last actual hunt had ended in him limping for two weeks because he _swore_ he’d heard Mary. One would assume Gerry would get used to it, would start ignoring the hallucinations, or whatever they were. But Mary didn’t get _ignored_. It just didn’t happen, unless he wanted to deal with the consequences. And Gerry knew, in hindsight, sometimes even in some dark, scared corner of his mind during those instances, that there were no consequences because this wasn’t even Mary. It wasn’t even her ghost who could lash out with words if he dared to try and walk out on her. It was all in his head and somehow, it made it so much worse to get a grip on.

Michael’s presence erased that for the time being, and Gerry was getting more and more desperate for it to stay. Maybe he would be able to catch up on some much-needed sleep if he could make it stay the night. Gerry should not be thinking that spending the night with the Spiral in his room was a _good_ thing, he knew. But Gerry knew many things and his thoughts still were out of his control. His awareness of it only added to his spiralling thoughts. 

The only thing that stopped it all was Michael. When it leaned over his shoulder to watch his hand move over the paper, Gerry’s head was cotton-stuffed and light, thoughts still there, floating, but out of reach and wobbly. Sometimes very strange thoughts made it to the centre of his attention during those instances, but even those were too soft to truly be unsettling. It wasn’t unreasonable to wonder what might happen if Michael came even closer, if it touched him, if Gerry pulled it down for a kiss, got it out of its ridiculously patterned clothes and-- maybe it was a little unreasonable. But it didn’t really feel like it _mattered_. Reasoning had always been pointless with Michael. Gerry didn’t think it was too far-fetched to wonder if getting closer might shut up his brain for good. Or at least for longer, so the haze wouldn’t lift completely before Michael was back.

In his few moments of clarity, Gerry was starting to seriously worry about himself. But they were getting few and far between, and every time he found himself desperately searching for a way to get rid of his mother, to get the Eye to back off, to get some semblance of control on his life, his mind started wandering to Michael. To wishing it would appear and shut his mind down, take the flurry of worries that were weighing him down, make him question whether he was awake, alive instead. He preferred that to this, to the sharp thoughts that kept cutting him because he couldn’t find a fucking solution and it was driving him mad. 

And, first to his horror, and then to something else, darker, number, a kind of distant excitement, he realised that he was starting to wonder if sanity was even worth it. If he found himself in less pain when his brain was mush, was it really that bad to just give in? What was he holding onto for? To help? Gerry hadn’t helped anyone in quite some time. Least of all himself. _She can't go through my door_ . What else couldn’t get through that door? Gerry had read the statements. Nobody lost their minds right away in those hallways. They kept their wits, somewhat, for some time. But what if Gerry didn’t just want to _go_ into the hallways? What if he wanted to _stay_? 

*

Michael had pulled up a chair to sit in front of him this time, arms resting on the back of the chair, head resting on its arms. It had stopped looking at the drawing a while ago, gaze fixed on Gerry’s face instead. Gerry didn’t mind. By now, he was so used to give into the confusion. He didn’t mind anything anymore as long as it stayed.

“What do you even do with all of these pictures, Michael?” Gerry eventually asked, maybe just to strike up conversation, - when had he talked to somebody the last time? Probably when he went out for groceries. When had that happened? Gerry couldn’t remember eating today. Or yesterday, whatever that even meant - maybe with something else in mind. Gerry wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of many things anymore. Just that Michael soothed his screaming thoughts. It was all he needed to be sure of right now anyways.

Michael’s head leaned to the side and Gerry found his eyes drawn to the exposed neck that looked far too long, which wasn’t what he was thinking of as he eyed it. The shape was an afterthought. He was wondering about its feel, its taste, what Michael might do it he bit it. “Decoration for the hallway,” it said and Gerry didn’t know if he had become immune to that voice, or if he just was too far gone for it to hurt him. He actually quite liked it, now. Or maybe it was the fact that whenever it spoke it blacked out his mind even more. One way or another, he wanted to hear more of it.

“So...you accessorize?” His voice fell flat, too tired to carry the joke.

Michael watched him intently from its inclined position before straightening up again. “Do you want to see?”

His eyes went a little wide - which was painful, lack of sleep had dried them out quite a bit by now. Gerry wasn’t out of it enough to not catch the meaning of that question. Or rather, its implication. For him to see he would have to walk through that door. Walk into the hallway. There it was again, the excitement the idea filled him with, deep down. It was much clearer now that his mind was foggy, the alarm bells distant. Or maybe not even there. Weren’t they just going off on principle? 

Gerry knew what happened in those hallways, he did. But his reservations about going in had started to crumble significantly as his real life started to become hell. Going mad in there or out here didn’t seem like much of a difference. If he continued the way he was living he wouldn’t make it much longer outside, either. So dying inside the Spiral also didn’t seem such a problem. And who knew, maybe he wouldn’t have to die. It was all about the unexpected. Maybe it would surprise him.

Gerry didn’t know when he got up from the chair, but he was nodding, maybe a little too eagerly. “I do.” 

He didn’t quite know what he was answering to anymore. Did he care to see his pictures? Maybe.

Michael’s door was right beside him, as was Michael. He hadn’t seen either move, but he watched now as Michael walked through the open door - he hadn’t seen it open, either - looking back at him from inside, waiting. Gerry couldn’t see ‘inside’. He could only see Michael’s expecting face - was it expecting? - and a whole lot of swirling colours behind it, around it. It made his head hurt, but Gerry still crossed the threshold.

*

Gerry felt like his brain was trying to leave his skull by any means possible. His head was _pounding_ and he had to blink away some tears to try to focus on his surroundings. It got better as he did, as the world around him seemed to settle into whatever shape it had decided to hold. Or maybe Gerry just got used to it. He stopped rubbing at his temples, arms falling to his side with a small gasp as he spotted his drawings on the wall of the hallway.

They were _alive_ . Gerry recognised them just fine, they _were_ the ones he had drawn over the months and given to Michael, but they looked so much better now, lines twisting and curving as he looked at them. He had always liked drawing as much detail as he could, patterns, intricate and small, to make the bigger picture. A kind of optical illusion, he guessed, where the longer you looked the more you lost sense of the whole and got lost in details. It had been fun and made for a good distraction for most of his life. 

But now he felt like he was seeing their true potential. In here, there was no way to tell if the movement was there or imagined. It _looked_ real but the hallway might as well just be pulling out what Gerry had always liked to try and achieve while creating them. It was dizzying and he had to look away, down the endless hallway. He didn’t know what his heart was racing for. Did he want to run? He didn’t think so. His hear still ached.

Michael was there, suddenly, in front of him and it looked, no, it _felt_ right. Like this was where it belonged, among twisting pictures in a subtly changing hallway. Gerry had no idea what exactly was giving him such ideas. But he didn’t care. The only thing clear - ‘clear’ was really the wrong word for the situation - in his mind was that he wanted to get closer, to see if being in the hallway and right next to Michael would do something. Would smother the last of the panic his body was apparently still feeling even if most of his mind seemed to be melted.

He came to a stop a couple steps in front of it. The hallway hadn’t changed. It was like he hadn’t walked at all. 

“What if I want to leave?” he asked and his voice sounded distorted in his ears, somewhat staticky. 

Michael seemed more out of focus in here. Or maybe Gerry’s head was still hurting too much for him to even attempt to read its expression. He did see as it pointed with its hand to the side. As Gerry’s eyes followed, they fell on a door that hadn’t been there before. In fact, it stood out strongly with its bright yellow against the black wall. 

“The door is there,” it said and its voice was everywhere, in the walls, the ceiling, the floor. It travelled through Gerry’s body, a pleasant buzzing underneath his skin. He wanted it to come closer. 

He didn’t remember taking a step forward, but Michael _did_ look like it was standing closer. The door was still right next to him. Had Michael approached?

Gerry licked his lips. They were as dry as always, but combined with everything else it was making it difficult to speak. What did he even want to say?

“What if I...don’t want to leave?”

Michael’s grin grew wider on its face and it drew its hand back to its side. The door wasn’t there anymore, had never been there, and this time, Gerry was sure it took a step towards him. He was starting to have to crane his neck to look at it.

“That can be arranged, too.” Its voice seemed lower and Gerry couldn’t decide if it sounded like teasing, or taunting. 

He decided to take it as an invitation, and closed the last of the space between them, coming to a stop inches from its form. Michael was looking down at him and the colours flying through its eyes seemed slower and faster at the same time. It was fascinating to watch.

“Are you going to drive me mad now?” Gerry didn’t know why he was whispering but he knew why his heart was beating fast this time. Anticipation. Excitement. His fingers were twitching to reach out. It was so close.

Michael’s face came closer, and Gerry felt what was probably one of its arms wrap around him twice. Not that he was looking; Gerry couldn’t look away from its eyes, now so very close, easy to get lost in. 

“Maybe I already have.” It didn’t wait for a response or even for the words to reach Gerry before it bridged the small gap still left and crushed their lips together in a kiss.

Gerry felt the pull of the hallway on his mind, felt the urge to get away, to fight it, the panic suddenly at the forefront. Instead Gerry focused on the kiss, the static numbing his mouth, his mind and Gerry felt its free hand in his hair, the other still wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as its tongue coaxed his mouth open. Gerry’s mind was spinning, twisting and he leaned into the hug, the kiss, arms wrapping around Michael's neck. 

He didn’t feel the cuts of its curls brushing his fingers, wasn’t sure if the wetness on his fingers was even there as the static radiating from Michael’s skin numbed his hands and he felt its teeth scraping his lower lip, making him gasp. 

The feeling of wrongness was sharp but the alarm in Gerry’s cotton stuffed mind was faint and as his ruined hands - why were his knuckles hurting all of a sudden? Why should he care? - buried themselves in glassshard, twisting hair, pulling it down by it, not too harshly but far enough from gentle for Michael to make what might have been a gasp. From this angle, Gerry had an easier time slipping his tongue into its mouth, exploring it eagerly and barely registering the completely wrong texture. What did _wrong_ even mean? Had he ever known? Gerry felt its fingers dig into his back and his body was on fire, his joints in pain, but Gerry’s head was empty and as he pressed himself against Michael’s edges, he let go of himself altogether.

**Author's Note:**

> more might come.


End file.
